Chess
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Jane was playing chess with himself in her office. Again. Missing moment from 5x12.


Title: Chess

Spoilers: Up through 5x12.

A/N: Missing moment from 5x12, I guess.

Rating: T

Disclaimers: 'The Mentalist' is the property of Bruno Heller and 'The Man Who Invented the Computer' is the property of Jane Smiley. Obviously I don't need to do any promotion of Mr. Heller's work in this forum for fear of preaching to the choir, but 'The Man Who Invented the Computer' is a truly fascinating read, if anyone is interested.

** Edit**: Made a minor modification to this story based on some feedback that the section that moves back and forth in time was a bit confusing. Being compulsive about that sort of thing, I couldn't let it go without making some kind of effort to make it easier to follow. Hope it's a bit clearer now.

xxx

Jane was playing chess with himself in her office. Again.

Lisbon ignored him, focusing on her computer screen. She was reading through Tommy Volker's financials for what had to be at least the eightieth time, trolling for something, anything, that might be useful in bringing him down. So far her obsessive search had yielded nothing, but surely if she just looked hard enough, something of use would turn up eventually. There had to be something in here. There just had to.

"Aha," Jane murmured, sounding pleased with himself. "Checkmate." He was really the only person she knew who actually crowed over his victories even when he was only playing a game against himself.

She picked up the file with the minimal amount of personal information they'd been able to get on Volker. Maybe something in here could be cross-checked with the financial records, and then—

"Time for a break," Jane announced.

Lisbon paid him no attention. Volker was a Stanford alum. Maybe one of his old school cronies could give some clues about his personality, his habits. Perhaps they even knew of some of his early misdeeds, before he'd learned to be so careful.

Jane stood up and crossed to her desk. "Lisbon, you need to take a break. Come play chess with me."

"Not now, Jane," she muttered distractedly, reaching for a pen to make a note. Yes, following up with some of Volker's old schoolmates could be worthwhile.

He took the pen away from her and closed the open file in front of her.

"Jane! What the hell?" she said, reaching for the file.

"You need to take a break," he said firmly, grabbing the file and hiding it behind his back. "You've been staring at these files for three hours straight. It's bad for your eyesight."

"My eyesight is just fine, thanks. Now give me back my damn file."

"No. Not until you promise me something."

She eyed him warily. "Promise you what?"

"Promise me that you'll come play chess with me for a little while before going back to this fruitless attempt to find Tommy Volker's most dangerous secrets in a bunch of paperwork."

"Paperwork often holds dangerous secrets," Lisbon pointed out. "How many times has Van Pelt found some vital clue in bringing a criminal to justice in her computer searches for us?"

"Fine, I grant you that financial information can on occasion be useful," Jane conceded. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is, if there were any dangerous secrets to be found in this particular set of paperwork, you would have found them already. You've gone through them with a fine tooth comb too many times to count, and you're too good a cop to have missed something that could be even remotely helpful in bringing Volker down."

Lisbon passed a hand over her eyes. Dammit, he was right. There was nothing there. It was just her own damn obsession with this case that was making her reach for every tenuous thread that might lead her to Volker's destruction. Those three people. Milk, she could understand. They'd been closing in on him, and Volker had worried that the man would betray him. But why had he had to take down two innocents in the process?

She knew the answer, of course. To send her a message. She hadn't been able to protect Amanda Shaw, and now two more innocent people were dead because of her. Because she couldn't let it go.

This was false reasoning, she knew. If she'd dropped the case, Volker would have continued to kill, unchecked, and the losses of more innocent lives would have continued to pile up. Those lives would have been just as much on her head as the three they'd lost last night. She just wouldn't have known about them. Rationally, she knew it wasn't true, that it was her fault that they were dead. But it felt true.

"Hey," Jane said softly. He tossed the file on a shelf behind him and reached forward to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll get him, Lisbon. We will. Just not tonight."

She eyed the file behind him. There *could* be something in there. Something she'd overlooked.

"I read this book last year," he said conversationally, "called 'The Man Who Invented the Computer.'"

She looked up, distracted despite herself. His hand was still on her shoulder. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The author describes how the man who invented the computer was working on this problem of how to build a calculating machine. He worked for weeks, months, almost constantly, but he couldn't find the solution to the problem. Then one day he decides to go for a drive. He gets in his car and drives aimlessly for miles and miles. Finally, he ends up in this bar out in the middle of nowhere and sits down to have a drink. He orders a beer, and just lets his mind wander. And then, far away from his desk and his notes, the solution comes to him. The thing that will make the calculating machine work."

"How nice for him," she said. "That still doesn't explain why you're telling me this right now."

His hand slipped from her shoulder. "The author points out that this is not an isolated phenomenon. There's actual research that indicates that some neurological processes are affected by this idea of working for a concentrated period of time on a project and then once the conscious mind stops thinking about it, the subconscious can make intuitive connections that come up with a solution to a problem that the conscious mind couldn't generate. There's a lesson in that which applies here, Lisbon."

"What, that if I drive out into the middle of nowhere and get hammered, I'll solve the Volker case?" Lisbon said dryly.

"No. That you need to stop thinking about this so determinedly, and allow your subconscious to work freely without the interference of your conscious mind." He took both her hands in his and tugged gently. "Come play chess with me."

Lisbon made a face, but allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Jane, I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for games."

"Do you think if you continue to work yourself further into exhaustion you will be more likely to experience a breakthrough on the case?"

She hesitated. Jane was right. She couldn't solve this thing by working herself into the ground. "Maybe I should just go home and try to get some sleep."

He shook his head. "Won't work. You'll just lie there and continue obsessing. You need a distraction. A game of chess will be just the thing."

He was still holding her hands in his. She tried to remain insensible of this, but failed. He'd been touching her more frequently, since he came back from Vegas. Not a lot, and very subtly, but still… more. At first she'd been annoyed, thinking that he was trying to use touch to manipulate himself back into her good graces, but eventually she realized that he was doing it for himself, to reassure himself that she was really there. He did care about her, to some extent. She guessed she just was never going to know exactly how much, since he seemed ambivalent towards her at best, what with the enigmatic 'Love you' that he had immediately disclaimed in the warehouse afterward.

At least she knew herself, now. Six months without him had fractured all her illusions about what he meant to her, and what she wanted him to mean to her.

So when he dropped one hand and used the other to pull her towards the table in the corner of her office, she left her hand in his. She cursed herself for a fool, but God help her, his hand felt warm in hers and she clung to it.

She'd thought maybe, after he came back, they'd finally get a few things sorted out between the two of them. Then Jane had tried to sell her head to Red John, broken Lorelei Martins out of jail, and Lisbon had become obsessed with bringing down Tommy Volker.

It had been a busy summer.

Now, with her hand in his, she was seized by a terrible feeling of longing and regret, her frustration with the Volker case spilling over into her frustration that she seemed yoked to this man by circumstance and her own desire, while he could (apparently) take her or leave her. Literally.

And now he wanted to play chess with her.

He'd bought the chess set for her for Christmas a few years ago—his second year with the CBI, in fact. She'd gotten him a set of linen handkerchiefs, the sort of thing she thought he might like to go with the rest of his somewhat old fashioned look, and he bought her a three hundred dollar antique chess set. He'd been delighted with the handkerchiefs, and she'd been utterly bemused by the chess set.

_"I don't play chess," she had informed him at the time._

_"Not yet, you don't," he'd agreed._

_"What do you mean?"_

_He grinned. "I'll teach you."_

_She blinked. "You want to teach me how to play chess?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Why?"_

_He shrugged. "I want someone to play with."_

_"But you're really good," she'd pointed out. "It won't be any fun for you, playing with a novice."_

_"You won't always be a novice," he returned._

She had been too surprised to respond, because it occurred to her that this was the first time Jane had ever indicated that he had any intention of sticking around. Oh, sure, she still figured he'd take off after they solved the Red John case and disappear into the sunset, but this was the first time she had any inkling that Jane might actually consider staying for any other reason. That he imagined playing chess with her long enough to see her graduate from novice status.

So after much cajoling, she'd agreed to let him teach her how to play.

Jane was a much more patient teacher than she'd expected, and always explained why certain strategies tended to work or not work, depending on the context. He was funny and entertaining during these matches, and was only marginally smug when he won. Which he did, of course, every single time.

Lisbon was too competitive to find much enjoyment in a game she had no hope of winning, however, so the matches became less frequent. Still, he usually managed to persuade her into playing with him about once a month. Usually by blackmail of some sort.

She had no clue how much the chess set was worth until Bertram remarked on it one day when he'd stopped by her office and seen it on the table. He recognized the brand and inquired how she'd acquired such a valuable antique set.

She'd lied, of course, and told him it was an old set her family had had for years. She felt devoutly thankful that the director of the CBI didn't know one of his team leaders had received a small fortune in chess pieces as a gift from her consultant. She wasn't sure what to make of it herself, and certainly didn't want Bertram to have any reason to think anything of it. She'd never mentioned any of this to Jane, though.

Now, the consultant pulled her over to the table in the corner of her office and sat her down, his hands on her shoulders. His fingers brushed her hair as he released her and walked around to the other side of the table.

She closed her eyes briefly against the sensation. Sometimes she wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing when he did stuff like that.

He sat down opposite her and smiled, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

She rolled her eyes at him, but found an answering smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. Ridiculous man.

He spun the board so the white pieces were in front of her. "Ladies first."

He always let her go first. That was part of their tradition. Lisbon had this vague idea that giving her control of the board at the beginning of the game was his way of making the match ever so much more slightly even.

She made her move, and the game began.

They played in companionable silence. Lisbon let her mind wander. She really needed to remember to leave work on time to go to the store tomorrow. She was running out of shampoo. The fact that her cupboards were bare didn't concern her—take out was invented for a reason, after all—but people would definitely start to notice that all was not right with the leader of the Serious Crimes Unit if she stopped washing her hair. It would curl something awful. It might even start doing what Jane's did and start shaping itself into funny animal shapes that looked like they might be able to walk away under their own power.

She moved her next piece absently, wondering if she would have time the next day to duck out at lunch to run a couple of errands.

"You're getting better," Jane commented. He sounded pleased.

Lisbon glanced at the pile of her captured pieces next to Jane's side of the board. "How can you tell? You're still kicking my ass."

"Yes, but I have to work harder to do it."

She looked at the pile again. "Doesn't look like you're breaking much of a sweat over it at the moment."

"Have you been practicing?" he asked curiously. He looked intrigued, but then he went suddenly still. "Have you been playing with someone else?" His voice strained to be light, but he didn't quite manage it.

He was actually jealous, Lisbon realized with a shock.

It was on the tip of her tongue to inform him that Cho was quite the chess player, but the fleeting look of hurt on his face stopped her.

He didn't deserve the truth, she thought, annoyed at herself for giving it up to him so easily. But she did it anyway.

"I started playing a bit online awhile back," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

He frowned. "Online?"

"Lots of people play games online," she said defensively.

"I'm aware of that, Lisbon. But you're not exactly the online gaming type."

She fidgeted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well. I was having trouble sleeping. I guess I found it relaxing. It helped take my mind off things."

She regretted saying it as soon as the words left her lips. Crap, she thought. He's going to figure it out in about a second flat. Dammit, why had she been so stupid to mention that it had started when she'd been having trouble sleeping? She cast about for something else to add, to distract him, but nothing came to mind, and she could only hope that the moment would pass on its own in relative peace. She shrank a little in her chair, hoping he wouldn't notice, that he wouldn't make a big deal of it.

No such luck. She saw the exact instant he divined the truth. She'd started playing because she'd been having trouble sleeping. While he was gone. This was the sad, pathetic truth: she had started playing chess online because she missed him, and she couldn't sleep. She'd resorted to engaging in an activity that reminded her of him, despite her acute awareness that it was a pale imitation of the real thing. Well, so sue her. She didn't exactly have an active social life, and she hadn't been sleeping well. Someone was always awake on the internet, after all. She'd been so desperate to feel close to him even in this synthetic, shadowy way that she would take what she could get. It hadn't been enough—nothing had been—but it had gotten her through some rough nights. And she'd gotten better at chess.

She expected him to make a joke, to tease her, so she could get angry at him and get past the awkward moment by yelling at him. But he didn't say anything at first, and the awful weight of the suddenly uncomfortable silence pressed down on her.

"Lisbon, I—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Lisbon said shortly.

Jane hesitated. "Very well."

She scraped her chair back and started to stand. "This was a mistake. I should go home."

"No," Jane said sharply. His hand flashed out and reached for hers. He closed his fingers over her wrist and held her fast. "Don't go."

"Jane…" she sighed. Why was he always so difficult? "You said it yourself. I'm not getting anywhere with the case. What's the point in me staying?"

"We haven't finished our game," he said, somewhat desperately.

"Can't we just play another night?" Lisbon pleaded with him. She wanted to be away from him and his damn beseeching, all-seeing eyes.

"Please. Stay."

He hadn't relinquished his hold on her. She looked down at his hand on her arm. "All right," she said reluctantly, and lowered herself back into her chair.

He relaxed infinitesimally, and let his hand fall back to his side. "It's your turn."

She moved her bishop.

Jane captured two more of her pieces without appearing to put any thought into it.

She sighed heavily. "How is this fun for you?"

He looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

"I don't pose the remotest challenge to you as an opponent. Why do you even want to play with me?"

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer her. "I like to watch you think," he said finally, his eyes on the board.

Lisbon stared at him. "_What_?"

He raised his eyes to hers. "Watching you play gives me insight into how you think. I like having the opportunity to observe how your mind works. It's a kind of … learning experience, for me."

"But you always seem to know what I'm thinking," she said, surprised.

He shook his head. "That's the thing. I don't. Not always. Not even often. As transparent as you are about some things… about others, you're completely unreadable."

It was tempting to take comfort from the idea of being unreadable to Jane, but this was coming from the man who managed to guess her thoughts correctly nine times out of ten whenever she least wanted him to know what was going on in her head. "Really?" Lisbon said skeptically.

He nodded. "You're quite the tangle of contradictions, Teresa."

He seemed sincere. She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I say. Tough, yet ruled by compassion. By the book, yet flexible. Stable, yet adventurous." His gaze passed over her face and lingered on her mouth. "Tomboyish, yet beautiful."

Color stained her cheeks. There was no way she was touching *that* with a ten foot pole.

Jane continued as though he'd said nothing out of the ordinary. "You're a very intriguing riddle, Lisbon."

She regained her voice. "And this is why you want to play chess with me? To get better at… what, reading my mind?"

"Not reading your mind. Understanding it."

"What's so special about my mind, in particular?"

"It… fascinates me."

She swallowed. "It does?"

He nodded. "It's beautiful and complex. One of my favorite puzzles."

"Oh," she said intelligently. This seemed like a significant admission, coming from Jane, but she had no idea what to say in reaction to it. She stared at the board in confusion. Realizing her side of the board was in rather bad shape, she moved her next piece in a desperate attempt to protect her queen.

Jane moved his final piece. "Checkmate."

She blinked. Not exactly a surprising outcome, but she had to admit she hadn't been quite ready for the game to end.

Jane found her fascinating. And beautiful.

If his aim had been to distract her from the Volker case, he had succeeded with flying colors. If she went home now, she'd lie awake obsessing, all right, but she was pretty sure there was no way Volker would edge out Jane as the primary object of her thoughts tonight.

Well, she'd already figured out one thing that could help with that. Seemed silly to go home and play online, though, when she had a willing player right here. He may have been infuriating, and confusing as hell, but at least she didn't need to worry about keeping him up nights.

She sighed, bowing to the inevitable. "You want to play another game?" she asked tentatively.

His smile lit up his face like the sun rising at dawn. "With pleasure, my dear."

Wordlessly, they started to collect the fallen pieces and rearrange them on the board to begin a new game.

They played into the night.


End file.
